


Cherry

by last_illusions (injured_eternity)



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-26
Updated: 2008-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/injured_eternity/pseuds/last_illusions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, the chaos that ensues from one tiny piece of fruit!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a true story, only my date didn’t walk into a signpost…

They walk out of McCormick’s Creamery, just a few blocks from Tony’s apartment complex, and he shoots a questioning look at Ziva, who has worn a slight frown since the server handed her her order.

“Something wrong?” he asks, puzzled. It is, after all, an ice cream sundae.

She glances up at him and merely shrugs.

“Are you sure?” he persists, a slight dry note entering his voice. “I’m pretty sure the waitress didn’t spit in it or anything…”

She shrugs again, then offers, “Do you want my cherry?”

At that, he begins choking violently on the almonds scattered through his own sundae. Stunned, she stares at him as, fair blinded and lacking the mental capacity to think it might be the better part of valour to stop moving, he walks straight into the crosswalk sign. His six feet plus are usually an asset—at least in the field. This time, all it means is that he has the height to hit the _sign_ , instead of just the pole.

With a muffled yell, he drops the container from his hand, narrowly missing what are undoubtedly designer Italian shoes in favour of putting a hand to his bleeding nose. On the plus side, he’s stopped choking. On the downside, his nose might be broken.

In wordless, confused sympathy, Ziva holds out her napkin, but they have by this point drawn the attention of passersby. Before she can ask him what on earth went wrong, a Metro cop pulls up, warily stepping out of his car to ask, “Are you all right, sir?”

Waving a hand rather ineffectually, Tony mumbles something vaguely akin to “Fine”, and the officer hesitates, looking dubiously at the blood as if questioning the merits of that declaration.

With a sigh, Ziva pulls back her jacket to reveal badge and gun. “I’ve got it,” she says, and the man doesn’t bother to question her—she looks a little too lethal to be worth getting into it over a bloody nose.

The cop gone, Ziva drags Tony over to a bench that’s slightly more out of sight than the sidewalk and makes him sit.

“Is it broken, do you think?”

He shakes his head. Though he sounds like he has the worst head cold in human history, he can at least speak now.

“I doubt it. Broke it before—didn’t feel like this.”

Satisfied—she can see for herself that he is, in all likelihood, fine—she sits back, regarding him more closely. “So what is so funny about my not liking these… march— mara— marshmallow cherries?”

He can’t help but grin. “Maraschino.”

“Fine.” She waves a hand dismissively. “What was so funny?”

Still grinning, he plucks the cherry off the top her sundae by its stem. “Those English idioms really get you sometimes, don’t they?” She’s still confused, if the tilt of her head is any indication, so he pops the cherry into his mouth and continues, “You don’t know what the cherry’s a metaphor for?”

“I didn’t know you knew how to use the word ‘metaphor’,” she tosses back drily, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t, either,” he shoots back. “It’s slang for a woman’s virginity,” he informs her finally, deadpan.

For a moment, she just stares, eyes narrowed as though she’s not sure he’s telling the truth. Then, to his vast amusement, her cheeks colour slightly, and he smirks. He just made the imperturbable Ziva David blush.

( _Cherry_ )

The next morning, Tony walks into the bullpen to find McGee and Gibbs already present. He is at least not yet late, but when he turns around to reveal a black eye and a swollen nose, McGee is staring open-mouthed and even Gibbs looks rather startled.

“You get into a fight with a woodpecker, DiNozzo?” his boss finally manages to ask.

He shakes his head rapidly; there is no way in hell he is explaining that sequence of events to Leroy Jethro Gibbs. “Walked into a door, boss,” he answers with a straight face.

It’s unquestionable that Gibbs knows full well he’s lying, but a summons from Vance keeps him from pursuing that line of questioning.

“Boss, do you want me to look—” McGee begins as the older man starts to walk away, but he’s cut off.

“No, McGee, it can wait until next year.”

“Right, boss,” he mumbles. At least now he’s not questioning the sarcasm of that statement.

The junior agent moves across the way to sit down behind Gibbs’ desk, and as soon as the door to Vance’s office shuts behind their boss, he looks up from the monitor to catch Tony’s eye. “So what _really_ happened?” He grins cheekily. “Bar fight?”

What Tony won’t say to Gibbs—at least for now—he _will_ say to McGee, if only to watch the Probie turn into a fish out of water, so he gets up from his desk and saunters across the bullpen. He stops just long enough to place something on Ziva’s desk at an angle out of McGee’s line of sight, then leans down to whisper in the other man’s ear. Rather stupidly, the younger agent chooses that moment to take a sip of his coffee.

Much like Tony the night before, he chokes harshly, though at least there are no signposts for him to clash with. There are, unfortunately, Gibbs’ monitors, desk, and paperwork between the coffee in his mouth and the ground. As he stares alternately at Tony, the desk, and the computer, his face turns an interesting shade of plum—though whether from embarrassment, the choking, suppressed laughter, or terror that Gibbs will kill him is debatable. Then the elevator dings open.

Ziva steps out and chooses the very wrong moment to look up; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why, exactly, McGee looks he swallowed a lemon and Tony looks very satisfied with himself. She feigns nonchalance and does it well, all until she reaches her desk and looks down: right next to her keyboard is a pair of ceramic cherries on the vine.

And she blushes.

  
 _Finis._

 _Feedback is always appreciated._


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